Page 16 of The Omega Switch: Part 2

She looked closer at me, then smiled and nodded.

"Then let's find you an apron," she said, and thus began my first day at the omega shelter. The shelter wasn't anything like I had imagined. Somehow, I'd unconsciously developed the same misconceptions that so many other people had about how abuse worked. The shelter assigned me chores like laundry and other tasks where the omegas wouldn't run into me. The only time I saw them was during the workshops, where I listened to experts speak, along with guests brave enough to share what they had been through.

On my third shift, I sat folding blankets beside one of the shelter's counselors, an older beta named Helen who had worked there for nearly twenty years. We folded in silence for several minutes before she glanced at me and smiled.

"You've been here a lot. What’s your reason?" she asked, folding another blanket.

“I need to know more. I… I really messed up. I missed the signs.” I admitted, ashamed at the truth.

“Ah, I figured.” She said, not looking up.

"Is it that obvious?" I asked.

"A little," Helen said as she continued handing me blankets and sighed. "And you're assuming there are always signs."

I frowned. “Aren’t there usually?”

"Sometimes." Her voice was softy. "But sometimes you have to look closer." Helen smiled sadly and gestured toward the common room. "Some of the people laughing out there spent years being told they were worthless. And some even defend the people hurting them because believing the truth is more frightening than believing they deserved it."

I felt a pain in my stomach at her words.

"Sometimes, they smile because smiling keeps them safe." I stopped folding blankets and looked out at the people in the common room. They looked happy now, but I had no idea what they’d been through. “You never know what they had to endure to get here.”

I stared at the half-folded blanket resting in my lap. Without warning, Ivy's face filled my mind. I remembered the way she instinctively looked toward her family before answering even the simplest questions. And the way she served everyone else before taking food for herself. The times when we were all together, she barely got to speak before Arabella interrupted. Ivy smiled all the time, but it was practiced - a smile to keep the peace. I remembered how hard it was to actually get time alone with her.

I had seen every single one of those moments, and chalked it up to her being shy and introverted. I never thought her own blood would treat her the way they had. I'd watched strange things unfold directly in front of me, and every time I questioned them, someone from her family offered an explanation that sounded just believable enough for me to accept. I vowed to myself that I’d never overlook something like that again.

By the time I returned home that evening, I couldn't shake the feeling that every lesson I thought I knew about trauma had been painfully incomplete. I sat alone in my study that evening, thinking for a long time before finally pulling a sheet of stationery from my desk drawer.

I wanted to let Ivy know that I was sorry. That I had failed her, probably the most out of everyone, because out of our entire pack, I’d spent the most time with her. I was an educated medical professional, and even though things didn’t sit right with me, I hadn't pushed it. I’d missed what was going on. I didn’t expect a response from her. In truth, I hoped Ivy never felt obligated to answer me at all. It took me all night to write that letter. I chose every word carefully.

I told her that I finally understood I had failed to hear the only voice that mattered. I admitted that I had trusted the people speaking for her instead of the woman standing in front of me. I wrote that I didn’t expect my admission would earn her forgiveness. I needed to become the person I thought I already was - the kind who recognized emotional abuse before someone had to beg for help. Most importantly, I told her I expected nothing. If she wanted a life without us, I would respect it. If she never wished to see me again, I would stay away.

I signed my name, sealed the envelope, and mailed it the following morning. Then I tried not to think about it. Days passed, and I assumed the letter had quietly disappeared into the life she'd built without us, and honestly, I hoped that meant she was too happy to waste time thinking about the man who had failed her.

One day, my assistant knocked softly on my office door before stepping inside with an envelope balanced between her fingers.

"This arrived for you," she said.

I thanked her absentmindedly, but then saw who it was from. My heart leaped into my throat. My hands shook before I carefully broke the seal. Inside was a single sheet of paper, from Ivy. I read it, my heart racing at every word. She thanked me for my letter, and admitted she still didn't know whether forgiveness would ever be possible, and she made no promises that things between us would ever be different. Then, at the very bottom of the page, she had written one final sentence.

Would you like to meet for tea?

I read those words over and over until they blurred beneath the sting of unexpected tears. She had offered something infinitely more precious than everything I owned. She wanted to give me a chance to talk, and to listen. And this time, I was going to hear her, the real her, for probably the very first time.

Chapter 10

Ivy

I couldn’t get my body to calm down. In fact, I almost canceled the whole thing before leaving my apartment. I was going to see Elias again. Even though my heart and mind knew that everything from the past was tainted, I still couldn’t stop the biological urge to get excited at the thought of him.

By the time I reached the little tea shop one street down, I was sure it was a mistake. My stomach twisted the closer I got, not from excitement, but to brace myself for disappointment. In the past, I always read too much into our interactions and my own fantasies about what could be going on. But now, I needed to ground myself in reality and base everything on actions, not words. So today, I didn't let myself feel excited. I just prepared myself to be disappointed.

The little café was quiet, just the way I'd hoped. A few people sat nearby reading a book or having a late lunch. It was nearly empty, which helped to steady my nerves as I claimed a table on the patio. The last thing I needed was an audience.

I’d barely arrived when I saw movement, and I couldn't stop myself from looking over as if he was a magnet. My breath caught - it was Elias.

Every memory came rushing back with enough force to make me feel a nostalgic type of agony. I remembered all those memories of the times I stood next to him in the laboratory while we debated fragrance notes. I remembered the way he smiled at me in excitement whenever I explained a new formulation. And I thought about all those afternoons when he'd stayed longer than usual to ask another question.